


Cold Case

by Babywolfchick1142



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Stripper Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:31:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babywolfchick1142/pseuds/Babywolfchick1142
Summary: On the day of his birth, Harry Potter disappears. Never to be seen again. A series of events unfold, that lead to Lord Voldemort taking over magical Britain once and for all. Years later, while celebrating a treaty with wizarding Russia, Voldemort encounters a beautiful stripper named Hadrian.





	Cold Case

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleMissSketch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissSketch/gifts).



> First I want to thank My really good friend Ocranbreeze7 for betaing for me. This would be terrible without her, it was rushed and wrote out entirely on my phone. She really helped make it readable, more than readable, Oceanbreeze7 added the style and finnese that I lack. You really outdid yourself kae, thank you! This was way out of your element, but you did it anyway. This is for our mutual good friend sketch. Happy birthday, I tried to write something that you would enjoy. i hope this is right up your alley.
> 
> P.S. Check the end notes Sketch, another surprise awaits there. But first, Enjoy!
> 
> Everyone else, I hope you enjoy also. <3  
> let me know what you think at the end.

July 31st ,1980, was a happy day for James and Lily Potter. Their first child was on its way. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Even though they had to rush into hiding following their child’s birth, it was still the greatest day of the newly parents’ lives. After hours upon hour of pushing, screaming, blood, sweat, and tears. A beautiful baby boy was born.  
His hair was as black as the obsidian night sky, dampened but thick even in birth. His skin flawless and creamy like all babes were.

His eyes were yet to open, but James and Lily just knew they would be perfect, like the rest of their baby was. The newborn favored James in complexion and tone, but had just enough of Lily’s features mixed throughout. He truly was sight to see. Simply beautiful. They named him Harry James Potter. Their little Harrykins, their pup, their fawn. James and Lily's hearts welled with love and pride.

  
As the mediwitch took the child away to run some mandatory tests to check the baby's health and clean away the evidence, James and Lily took in a breath. It had started- this was it; in a few short hours they would begin their journey. Yes, they would have to go into hiding, but it was worth it for their precious little Harry. They had only just seen his face and still the couples’ hearts were filled with love and bliss. They took a few moments to enjoy some peace, knowing that soon their new adventure would start.

  
Or not. Little did they know that the few short moments they had with baby Harry were all they would ever have. Little did they know, that they would never, ever, see their child again.

  
July 31st, 1980 was supposed to be the best day of James and Lily Potter's lives.  
July 31st, 1980 was the day of Harry James Potters steps into the new world, and the day he disappeared. A butterfly effect, little glossy wings flapped, and a series of events unfolded and took flight. The butterfly flapped; The Dark Lord Voldemort would conquer Wizarding Britain once and for all.  
The mediwitch that took Harry also vanished that day; she turned up dead three weeks later. No one in Saint Mungos hospital saw or heard a thing. The child known as Harry Potter simply vanished into thin air.

  
As if by magic, which was entirely possible, considering this is the Wizarding World.  
A Prophecy foretelling a babe borne was the Order of the Phoenix’s greatest hope. A prophecy where a babe would one day bring down the Dark Lord. Two children fit the profile, fulfilling the requirements perfectly so. Harry James Potter born July 31st and Neville Longbottom born a single night prior.  
But that wasn’t the end. When Harry Potter disappeared, still warm from the womb, little Neville and his family were hunted down like animals. Murdered, by the Dark Lord.

  
James and Lily wouldn’t rest, exhausted and determined to find their stolen son. They wouldn’t rest, so cruciatus made them. They were tortured for information; dates, names, anything on their missing child. They knew nothing, and thus, they were killed.

  
The Ministry of Magic fell first. The Order of the Phoenix fell soon after. The remaining members fled into hiding, led by Albus Dumbledore at the helm, hoping that perhaps one day, the phoenix would rise again. In the dark that followed, any and all resistance was either silenced or reformed. No one spoke out against the Dark Lord.

  
The Wizarding World was quiet, and for once, at peace.

  
Lord Voldemort’s obsession for squashing any and all possible threats bloomed after he reigned control. He was crazed, obsessive, looking for any and every sign of the lingering Order of the Phoenix. Shrouded in madness and mania for any sign of the missing babe, Harry Potter.

  
He realized in the peak of hysteria, with blood and rumors coating his floors, that his visage of control had begun to falter in his paranoia. He needed to hold the reins with an iron clad fist. He needed clarity, he needed sanity. There was only so little he alone could accomplish, only so long he could remain victorious when already rotting.

  
So Lord Voldemort rationally, sewed himself back together. Rejoining himself once more with the first shred of soul he stripped away, many years before. He retained his immortality with five other horcruxes, but gained back the majority of himself.  It was unheard of even in the most infamous of books, and the afterimage haunted the world with longing. His capabilities were rejuvenated, in both mind and flesh. Skin cleared, skull hidden under hair and smile sharp and fresh. He was something to be cherished, something others wanted to be cherished by. He was salvation, a miracle unknown to even the oldest wizards. More complete and clear of mind than ever, Voldemort made sure his sheep viewed him as a beloved leader.

  
He gave up his merciless hunt for a fabled story of a little baby. He had won; chasing after something nonexistent would ruin his victory and taint it sour.  
He was still a monster oh yes, he didn’t care for human emotions. Mimicry, was a fine art. He played his part, he smiled to his people, and he comforted his sheep like any man would when herding them to the butcher.  
Lord Voldemort went on to become the most beloved leader in wizarding Britain's history, the way in which he became so, was but a stain in the distant past. No one mentioned the history. No one questioned his rule. Lord Voldemort was revered.

  
The baby was long since forgotten, an unknown entity. A child’s tale and nursery fable like everything else unimportant. Everyone who cared for the child had been set to rest or hid away in the shadows. The boy was never mentioned again, and the case ran cold. The case went dead.

* * *

 

  
November 2nd, 1998 was a glorious day for Lord Voldemort. Not only did it mark eighteen years since his takeover of wizarding Britain, today would also mark the beginning of a treaty between Britain and Russia. The two wizarding nations had been at odds for years, that is, until Voldemort’s reign. It had taken a long time, a fair amount of charm and venomous smiles, but here they finally were.

  
Voldemort smiled a vicious grin, subtly sharp. He downed his glass of celebratory Firebrandy.

  
It was a good day to be King.

  
Anatoly Volcov, the Head of Magical Russia, stood proudly to his right. A council of both British and Russian delegates stood nearby. Everyone was joyously celebrating, relaxed and nervous in the presense of the young crimson eyed Lord. It truly was a good day, as all days were now that he had woven his web and pulled tight the noose.

  
“In delight of such a special occasion, allow me to show you a proper celebration, Lord Voldemort. In your honor, of course. Have the preparations been arranged?” Volcov’s voice was heavily accented, thick and harsh on vowels. Volcov glanced to his side, seeking confirmation that was easily given.

  
“Excellent! Lord Voldemort, follow me, our celebration shall continue one in a more…casual setting. I have taken the liberty to make a special venue for yourself and your delegates. Drinks will be freely passed, and entertainment shall be near endless. I hope it is to your liking.”

  
The Russian leader gave slight bow, pressing his arm to his chest in a sign of humble respect.

  
Voldemort’s lip quirked ever so slightly in amusement. Certainly, no others knew how to celebrate quite like the Russians.

  
Volcov lead them away through the floo to what appeared to be a night club. Witches, wizards, and creatures of all species were dancing and drinking. Looking a moment closer, it was hard to tell what else, but more activities were doubtlessly occurring. A stage at the front of the club hosted music, providing a stage for dancers of more…exotic intent. Drugs and potions were passed freely. Drinks exchanged, bubbling and fluorescent as imps served platters to more shrieking visitors. The air was full of magic, too. Dark and cloying, heavy cream and saccharine sweets; seductive.

  
It was unlike anything Voldemort had seen before. In his long life, he had been to many fancy parties and galas, but had never found the opportunity to go…clubbing.  
It was so very muggle. Beyond Voldemort’s realm of expertise. Of course, the Dark Lord knew that such establishments like this existed throughout Wizarding Britain. They were once illegal but- well, who would their benevolent leader be if not merciful?

  
The only reason these operations were viewed with a scowling eye was due to the illegal activities that commonly occurred within the walls. It seemed they were much more widely accepted in Russia, even their leader himself was a frequenter.

  
The entourage were lead upstairs to what appeared to be a VIP room, reserved only for the rich and pure. Tonight, it would house their party. The VIP area held a view of the entire club, the exotic dancer platform was front and center with the shadow of bodies just beyond. Drinks and food were catered to them. With a flick of a wand, glass magnified on anything of their interest.

  
Voldemort quite liked it, it was much different than the stuffy, fancy balls held in Britain. It was more care free and relaxing. In the chaos of screams and laughter, it felt like harmony. To his right, Lucius (looking unsure) and Bellatrix (looking the opposite) were gossiping like school girls. To his left, Volcov was flirting with a young waitress. As entertaining as it was in their special room, the Dark Lord was starting to become bored.  
He looked down at all the people, dancing away in the club. They hadn’t a care in the world. Voldemort scoffed, they were all foolish. Losing their minds to drugs, potions, and alcohol. Engaging in meaningless sex and wasting precious magic just to get high. It was sickening. It reminded him how pathetic they were, how weak and so easy to break. Even the Russian leader submitted himself like something domesticated.

  
Peering around once more, quenching his disgust with a curl of his upper lip, Voldemort caught sight of Avada Kedavra green. Bright, vibrant, and Voldemort knew the shade of that curse as intimately as anything in his life. This wasn’t magic, for once its source was not something of his own creation, but eyes belonging to someone unknown. Voldemort identified their origin and lay eyes upon the most beautiful face he ever had the pleasure of seeing. A boy, young, late teens to early twenties. The stranger had a lithe, yet muscular form unhidden by flowing fabric. He was about average height, albeit a little on the short side.

  
Voldemort watched the boy; he was shirtless, on the dancer stage, obviously familiar with it due to his profession. He danced around a pole seductively, and mesmerizingly slow. A flash of skin, and Voldemort noted the boy’s left hand teasing the button of his trousers.  
In contrast to his clear eyes, his hair was a wild mess that flowed in ratty clumps to below his ears. Thickened with sweat, or maybe something else. Those gorgeous green eyes were blown out, alternating between dazzling emerald to a thin rim around a pupil as large as his wand. The boy was obviously high, intoxicated and familiar with it. The light ghosting of muscles on his small form contracted as the boy moved expertly. Voldemort could hardly tear his eyes away.

  
Primal desire lit up inside him, the Dark Lord knew he could bed anyone and everyone he wanted. Men and women alike threw themselves at his bedroom door. He was a vain man, he was handsome. After regaining the majority of his soul, he also regained his looks and charms. He had come to terms with it, how his appearance influenced any he wished. It helped, but at times it was a hinderance. He was very picky, as one must be when permitted anything they desired. They didn’t pick him, he picked them. Right now, he wanted that boy. He knew nothing about him, but he picked him.

  
“Anatoly,” his voice was curt and crisp, cutting through all conversation like a whip. He finally tore his eyes away from the boy, if only for a second. “Tell me about the boy on the stage.”

  
The Russian looked shocked, but quickly went on to talk.

  
“Ah, you have good taste. He really is a pretty thing, I don't know much, I am afraid. I often frequent the establishments and keep an eye on the happenings, but I don’t make a habit of knowing our workers. Technically speaking, the boy has only worked here for the past few months- since he turned 18.”

  
The Russian gazed at the boy, who now only wore boxers, with something akin to lust and- was that regret?

  
“Then what can you tell me? He is quite the beauty. I would like to be introduced once I have gathered adequate information.”

Voldemort's delegation, mostly consisting of his Inner Circle, didn’t bat an eye at his bluntness. Some felt envy for the boy, some felt sorry for him. Their Lord’s attention was a blessing and a curse, most of his lovers were never… returned, to who they once were.

  
Their ally spoke to the waitress girl before signaling her to talk. “My name is Oksana, I will tell you about striper boy.” Her English was very broken and even more heavily accented. Voldemort spoke Russian fluently, so could easily read between the lines. The rest of his delegation were having trouble understanding.

  
“His name is Hadrian, he has no last name. He has been around club for long time. Boy hasn’t officially worked here for long, but he worked the floor for years. Kid is safe, clean. Popular with both women and men, he turns a hefty profit.”

  
She went on and on about unimportant things, Voldemort hardly paid attention. As the boy’s dance came to an end, he never did take if his underwear. Voldemort was silently pleased. The kid, or rather Hadrian was a whore. The Dark Lord could not honestly care less; he still wanted the boy. And he always got what he wanted.

* * *

 

Voldemort sat in the luxury room appointed to him. The lounge portion held two love seats and a couch, all tan trimmed with gold. Elegant, but Voldemort couldn’t help but sneer at the coloring. A full bar was too the left, a marble table hosted refreshment. The carpet was a velvet, plush, beige. The walls were gold. Overall it was a display of wealth and luxury, one that made him scoff. But, he supposed, it served its purpose.

  
Volcov had made the Arrangements for the boy from the club- Hadrian- to come to come to the rooms later in the evening. Voldemort hated waiting for the things he wanted, but in this instance he couldn’t help but feel it was worth it. He had yet to see Hadrian up close, but the image of him dancing kept flickering in Voldemort’s mind. Those eyes, something about them brought a warm feeling to the lord.

  
A knock at the door brought the man out of his musings. With a swing of his hand the door opened. Voldemort remained seated in the center of the lavish couch looking every bit the king he was. The boy from the club walked in, his face the picture of indifference. A delightful mask, a careful twist of muscle and expression; it was almost like looking in the mirror. Only better, which wasn't even painful for him to admit. This...Hadrian, truly was a sight to see. Green met red, something stirred between them.

  
The boy took a step into the room, closing the door behind him. With a flick of his wrist, Voldemort locked the door. The lock rattled loudly, the boy didn’t so much as flinch.  
He took a bored look around the room before his eyes settled back upon his red. Hadrian dropped to his knees and dipped in a low bow.

  
“My lord, you requested me?” He questioned, rather rhetorically. The boys voice was quiet and seductive; it rang out like a finely composed tune. Voldemort noted that the boy didn’t even have a hint of a Russian accent. The boy was English.

  
“I asked you here. Meaning, you are a guest. Come, sit with me.” Though it sounded like a request, it was a demand. The boy readily obliged. He wasn’t even a little bit shy, he held no reserve as he made his approach. Voldemort was known worldwide. Arguably, he was the most feared Dark Lord in entirety of the world. Everyone should know his face, even Russian whores.

  
Not that the boy was even of Russian nationality. If the boy hadn't heard of him, Voldemort had no doubt he would have been informed before showing up in his hotel room. The boy carried indifference like a second skin, he practically dripped confidence.

  
Either he was incredibly reckless, or he was used to dangerous situations. With his line of work, Voldemort suspected it was a mixture of both.

  
The boy sat next to him, allowing his knee to brush the Dark Lord’s own. Green eyes stayed lowered submissively, a seductive smirk set in on his lips. The boy’s pupils were still wide, but not as much as they were in the club. Whatever drugs or potions the boy had indulged in were wearing off, but he showed no signs of discomfort. No emotions at all. The boy was good.

  
Voldemort could hardly read him. Grabbing the boy’s face with a firm hand, he looked deep in the eyes he had been hunting all night. He instantly met strong occlumency barriers; a single prod and the boy dropped them immediately. He was smart, but his mind remained blissfully blank. Voldemort couldn’t help but grin at the challenge.  
Releasing Hadrian’s face from his grip, Voldemort allowed his hand to drop leisurely down the boy’s chest. Hadrian wore a thin, white muggle shirt paired with tight black trousers. Voldemort missed his state of undress from before; the boy was beautiful, but looked much better naked.

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself…. Hadrian, wasn't it?”

  
The boy hardly blinked. “Indeed, my Lord. However, I am afraid there isn’t much to tell.”

  
The boy was being purposefully elusive, Voldemort could tell. He was a professional, keeping his eyes submissive, paying no mind as his body was touched. Voldemort liked a little fire from his lovers. He had not enough information about the boy to be sure that he was anything more than just a pretty face.  
Voldemort prodded with his magic; it licked up and down the boy’s skin, whispering words of pleasure along the shell of his ear. Hadrian visibly shivered, his magic lashing back deliciously so. Voldemort tasted it. The boy was powerful- his magic was dark too. It was delightful, it had been a very long time since Voldemort last felt magic like this.

  
“How old are you, you're obviously a professional…. yet so very soft. You're powerful, I have no doubt you could be anything you desire. How did you wind up being a whore? And your accent … how did you end up here?” He wanted answers about this boy who had enthralled him, so. He left no room for argument in his tone, perhaps Hadrian recognized this because he gave no argument in defending his personal information.

  
“I am eighteen, my Lord. I won’t bore you with my unfortunate childhood, but this is all I’ve known. I never went to school. I was taught by many different people over the years. I’m mostly self-taught; I procured a wand before I was supposed to and learned on my own. Formally I don’t even exist- I have no parents, no relatives.” The boy replied as if he were stating the weather, completely empty of emotion. No parents, no heir or name- he was an orphan, like Voldemort.

  
“You never answered me. How did you come to live in Russia?” Voldemort was more and more curious about this enigma of a boy, he was so beautiful and so full of potential, but on paper a complete ghost.

  
The boy simply blinked at the question, and simply spoke, “I was sold. “

  
That was all he said, but the implications were undeniable. The boy acted like such a thing was normal, like it was nothing to find unusual. Something inside Voldemort ached for this unknown boy, and that more shocking than anything else.

  
He’d never even met Hadrian before, but he saw himself in the boy on so many levels. He was too young to know the world’s horrors, too beautiful. Voldemort couldn’t quell his desire for the boy; his lips descended, Hadrian meeting him instantly in part.

  
The boy pulled away, “I know who you are. The Dark Lord Voldemort. A tyrant, a killer. The conqueror and leader of wizarding Britain. You don't feel sympathy for anyone. So why feel sorry for me? We are all given a lot in life, this is mine. I have long since came to terms with that.” Hadrian whispered it, soft and smooth.

  
Then he dropped to his knees, a sly smirk beginning to bloom across his face.  
“I am glad you called upon me, my Lord, I have followed your movements since I was just a little boy. This is my greatest fantasy, you are so very handsome.” He smirked wickedly, his eyes alight and full of intelligence. Eyes with a spark that that met aged crimson, like red wine that echoed years in both sight and smell. For the first time in his life, Voldemort felt something for another human being. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what, but it was beautiful. Even if it only lasted a single night.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until several months later, on February 15th, that Voldemort's curiosity got the best of him. He spent two nights with Hadrian in Russia, the mysterious boy with the Avada Kedavra eyes was easily the best sex Voldemort ever experienced. He couldn’t get the boy out of his head- Voldemort obsessed easily, and Hadrian was his newest obsession.

  
He went on a little quest to discover the identity of the green-eyed boy. Looking into the records of every single child born in magical Britain during the month of 1980. It was a time of war, so more than a handful had died, and several vanished along with the rebellion. It wasn’t rare, but none fit. It wasn’t until he opened the long-forgotten file of a children’s tale did everything click. Harry James Potter (a possible child prophesied to kill him), vanished the very day he was born, never to be seen again. Harry…Hadrian…those eyes…

  
A vivid image of red hair and green eyes near identical to Hadrian’s flashed through Voldemort’s memory. A voice begging pleading. “I-I don't know. I don’t know what happened to my baby…he’s gone I don’t- please don’t kill me. I want to live- I want to find him- my baby.”

  
The killing curse lit her eyes to the exact shade of the boy’s. Hadrian, was Harry James Potter. His old obsession, was his new obsession. The boy was alive after all these years- Voldemort had sex with him. Perhaps fate was real after all.

  
January 16th was a good day for Lord Voldemort. It was the day the case of Harry James Potter, was once again opened. It was the day his obsession would finally be silenced.

  
Voldemort made the arrangements to go to Russia that same day, the Russian political leader knew to expect him. He wasn’t sure what to think when he saw the boy again. Would he have the overwhelming urge to kill a boy who was prophesied to be marked as his equal, to be his downfall? Would he still feel desire for him? Would Voldemort want to keep the boy for himself, take measures to ensure Hadrian couldn’t kill him? There were so many questions.

  
Once he arrived he was met with a confused Russain official, but Volcov indulged him anyway and led him to the club. Upon arrival he saw no signs of the boy at all. He asked Volcov sharply and blunt.

  
“I have never heard of this...Hadrian before. My Lord, are you sure you aren't mistaken?”  
Fury filled Voldemort, the bar tender from the same night was called and she recounted the same thing. She had never seen or heard of Hadrian before. She claimed no person matching his description had ever worked there before.

  
His anger got the better of him and he ravaged the minds of everyone in his way. Stepping through memories and dreams, desecrating treasured moments in search for his obsession. Nothing, it was like he never existed at all.

  
Voldemort had never felt such cold fury before in his life.

  
January 16th, was supposed to be a good day for Lord Voldemort. Instead it was the day wizarding Britain went to war with wizarding Russia as the treaty fell. It was the day the case of Harry James Potter was opened. It was the day the case of Harry James Potter went cold once more.

* * *

 

Sitting at a bar, in a club somewhere deep within the wizarding world of North Korea, Hadrian gave a self-satisfied smirk.

  
“I hear you had a run in with the Dark Lord, how did that go?” asked a deep male voice from directly behind the boy.

  
“Of course, you asked me to seek him out after all. It went fine- he truly is a beautiful man. I don’t think he suspected a thing, but I covered my tracks well.”

  
Hadrian turned to face the man behind him. Standing about six feet tall, with long black wavy hair. Middle aged with youthful lines, handsome with grey eyes. He was rugged, yet soft, an ageless beauty. Hadrian smiled with familiarity, happy to see the man.

  
“So, what now? What’s our next move, Regulus?”

 

 

The end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> First, is love to know what everyone thought!
> 
>  
> 
> Second, don't hate me too much for the ending.(Especially you Sketch).
> 
>  
> 
> Third,  
> A picture is worth a thousand words, or so they say  
> But I don't need a picture,  
> no, id rather have a good old fashioned Sketch any day  
> So here is to you, sketch, On this special day.  
> I hope it fills you with joy, I hope it fills you with cheer  
> I hope it brings you, a much better year  
> know we love you, and are proud of you, too  
> Sketch you are amazing, beautiful, and true  
> Happy, Happy Birthday, Sketch  
> Happy Birthday too you.


End file.
